Текст книги "Native Affairs"

Автор книги: Doreen Malek Owens

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 37 страниц)

“Either way the boy is dead. No highway is worth a human life, for heaven’s sake.”

 Tracy nodded soberly.

“I feel like dumping this case right now.”

“The government will only go ahead with somebody else, and you’ll be in hot water at the firm,” Tracy said. “You might as well stay and see this through.”

The telephone rang at Tracy’s elbow and she picked it up on the first ring.

“Hello?” She listened for a moment and then said, “No, this is her assistant. Just a second, she’s right here.”

“Who is it?” Marisa asked.

Tracy handed her the phone and said, “Jackson Bluewolf, the man you hardly know.”

Marisa threw her a dirty look as she took the phone. “Hello?” she said tentatively.

“Did you hear about what happened last night?” Jack demanded tersely.

“Yes. I’m so dreadfully sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say. I’m calling to tell you to ask the judge for a postponement. I need a few days to get these young turks calmed down. If the hearing goes on as planned today there could be real trouble.”

“Lasky already gave my team three continuances when Arthur had his accident. He’s not going to listen to any more on that subject from me. Can’t your guy ask him?”

“Brady doesn’t want to ask him. Brady thinks that the more trouble stirred up, the better for our side. And Lasky has made it clear that he wants this over with as soon as possible.”

“I can’t ask for more time, Judge Lasky will censure me. Brady has to do it.”

There was an impatient sound from the other end of the line. “He won’t listen to me. He wants to win the case and doesn’t care if anybody else gets hurt.”

“That’s a strange comment coming from you, Mr. Bluewolf. Some people would say that your only role in this has been to exacerbate the existing problem,” Marisa replied testily.

There was a long silence and then Jack said, “I’m here because I didn’t want to see any more Indians robbed of their land by the government, Ms. Hancock. That’s all.”

“Of course. You’re perfectly innocent. You must have heard the story of the sorcerer’s apprentice.”

“What?” he said, exasperated.

“Don’t you remember the story about the trainee magician who was drowned by the waters he summoned? He initially got what he wanted but then lost control of his creation.”

The phone slammed down in her ear.

Marisa replaced the receiver carefully.

“What happened?” Tracy asked.

“That man is amazing. He has more gall than any other three people I know. He comes to Florida to rile up the Seminoles and get them on the march, and then when his plan succeeds too well he wants me to help him dampen the fires by asking for a continuance.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Tracy said warily. “From what you’ve told me about Lasky, he’ll go wild.”

“Of course he will. Brady won’t do it, mind you, but Bluewolf thinks he can maneuver me into it. Lasky will hang me out to dry, and Bluewolf knows it. But there he is on the phone anyway, not asking, mind you, but demanding that I help him with a problem he created when he knows doing so would hurt my case.”

“He didn’t create the problem, Marisa. The Seminoles were protesting long before he got here.”

“He intensified it, then. He isn’t even a Seminole, he’s a Blackfoot from the Quadro Reservation in Oklahoma! He goes all over the country putting in his two cents for Indian causes, which is fine I suppose, even commendable...”

“But not when it interferes with the progress of your career,” Tracy interjected.

“That isn’t fair!” Marisa countered, tossing her crumpled breakfast napkin in the trash. “I have no desire to see anyone else get hurt, either. I merely resent the fact that he thinks he’s going to pressure me into doing as he says when his own lawyer won’t listen to him.”

“Aren’t you overreacting a little? I guess he figured it was worth a try.”

Marisa leaned forward urgently. “If I ask for a delay, Lasky becomes even more prejudiced against me than he is already, Brady is in the clear, and Bluewolf gets what he wants without sacrificing an iota of Lasky’s goodwill for his side. Wouldn’t you feel used in my place?”

“I suppose so,” Tracy said slowly. Then, after a moment, “What are you going to do?”

“If Mr. Bluewolf wants a delay he can ask for it himself. I’ll be in court at nine o’clock as planned,” Marisa said flatly and went to the bathroom to take a shower.

* * *

Marisa’s bravado deserted her when she stepped outside the hotel at eight forty-five and saw the mob scene across the street at the courthouse. There seemed to be at least three times the usual number of people assembled outside and the sound level was deafening. As she moved toward the intersection with Tracy at her side, it seemed that the protesters turned as one body to stare at them and, incredibly, the crowd noise got even louder.

“Oh, my God,” Tracy said at her side. “We should have requested a federal marshal as an escort.”

“Don’t show them that you’re scared,” Marisa replied.      ‘

“If you wanted a performance like that you should have sent me to acting school,” Tracy responded darkly.

They marched, side by side like soldiers, across the street and into the crowd, which parted for them like the Red Sea. Marisa looked straight ahead as they walked up the courthouse steps, so she didn’t see the arm emerging from the mob, the arm holding the gun.

What happened next was a blur. She heard Tracy scream and saw Jackson Bluewolf appear before her like a genie out of a bottle. He grabbed her upper arms and thrust her aside so powerfully that she fell. At the same instant she heard the crack of a gunshot and Jack tumbled to the steps nearly on top of her, his shoulder smudged dark with a powder burn and then blossoming red.

The scene was chaos. Marisa struggled to her knees, stunned, as people began running to and fro yelling, “He’s hit!” and “Get an ambulance!” Policemen she hadn’t seen previously materialized as if from nowhere and subdued the assailant, who was sobbing, “I didn’t mean Jack, I didn’t mean to shoot Jack!” And Bluewolf was crumpled like a discarded doll on the courthouse steps, his eyes closed, blood staining his jacket and running down his hand.

Marisa crawled over to him and yanked on his tie, loosening his collar. His eyes fluttered open and for a second she was sure he knew her. Then someone appeared at her side saying, “I’m a doctor,” and she was pulled away as all attention was directed to the wounded man.

Marisa didn’t realize she was crying until Tracy sat down next to her on the steps, oblivious to the crowd milling around them, and handed her a tissue. The clicking and whirring of cameras formed an incessant backdrop to the other noises surrounding them.

“That bullet was meant for me,” Marisa gasped.

“I know,” Tracy said, not meeting her eyes. “The shooter was the dead boy’s brother. I heard somebody talking about it.”

They both watched as Jack was loaded onto a stretcher and carried down the steps into a waiting ambulance.

“You don’t have to say it,” Marisa added dully. “I know it’s all my fault.”

Tracy just shook her head.

“I want to go after the ambulance to the hospital,” Marisa said quickly, rising.

“I doubt if they’ll let you in to see him.”

“I have to try.”

Tracy stood also. “At any rate, we’d better get out of here. Once the excitement dies down we might become very unpopular. Let’s go.”

They went back to the hotel, where Marisa called the hospital. Bluewolf was listed as stable, whatever that meant, but was allowed no visitors.

“Tracy, you’d better stay here,” Marisa said. “See if you can get through to Judge Lasky’s chambers, and then get in touch with the firm. Take messages for any calls that come through here.”

Tracy stared at her.

“Don’t look at me that way.”

“You’ll just be mobbed at the hospital,” Tracy said.

Marisa went there anyway.

The lobby was full of reporters and police. The NFN lawyer, Ben Brady, spotted Marisa and scuttled to her side, grabbing her shoulder and steering her into an adjacent hallway.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he said, looking past her at the room they’d just left.

“Same thing you are,” Marisa responded, yanking her arm from his grasp. “I want to make sure Bluewolf is all right.”

“If you go back out there the press will eat you alive. It’s common knowledge already that the kid was aiming at you.”

“And did you aid in disseminating that knowledge?” Marisa inquired coldly.

“Hey, don’t blame me for your screwup. If you had asked for the continuance this might not have happened.”

“You had the same opportunity to do so that I did! Bluewolf told me he wanted you to talk to Lasky and you refused.”

“When did he tell you that?” Brady asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Never mind, it’s not important now. Can you get me upstairs to see him or not?”

“Why should I do that?” Brady countered.

“Because he was hurt trying to protect me. A decent person would let me satisfy my conscience that he’s all right,” Marisa said evenly.

Brady studied her in silence.

“Or am I making an incorrect assumption that you’re a decent person?”

Brady shrugged. “I can take you up to his room, but my guess is that’s as far as you’ll get.”

“I’ll take that chance.”

Brady turned around and guided her through the crowd, shoving off aggressive reporters and ignoring the shrill cries which surrounded them. They were almost running when they reached the elevator. Brady punched the button with the flat of his hand and they fell against the inside walls of the cage as the doors closed and it ascended.

“Nice group, eh? ” he said sarcastically.

When they got to the third floor the atmosphere was much calmer, brisk and efficient. Brady introduced Marisa to the attending doctor at the nurse’s station.

“How is Mr. Bluewolf?” Marisa said anxiously.

“You’re not a relative, right?”

“No, I’m...”

“The target of the gunman,” Brady finished for her when she hesitated.

“Ah, I see,” the doctor said, nodding. “Well, he’s lost a lot of blood, but we’re transfusing him and he’s young and healthy. We’ll be operating soon to remove the bullet. Unless he throws a clot or something else extraordinary happens, he should recover from the wound all right.”

Marisa closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Why did that guy take the bullet for you?” the doctor asked her curiously.

“He didn’t mean to, it was an accident. He was trying to shove me out of the way,” Marisa said.

“Haven’t you heard, Doctor?” Brady said lightly. “Chivalry is not dead.”

Marisa silenced him with a look.

“May I see him?” she asked the doctor.

The doctor shook his head. “Not until after the surgery. His sister and mother are on their way from Oklahoma. Once they get here they can determine the visiting list.”

“May I wait around until the operation’s over?”

He gestured toward a small waiting room at the end of the corridor. “You can sit in there if you want. It will be a while.” He hurried off to waylay a passing nurse.

“Are you going to hang around here?” Brady asked Marisa.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you go back to your hotel? I’ll call you.”

Marisa shook her head. “I’ll wait.”

“Feeling responsible?” he said baitingly.

“Goodbye,” Marisa said, turning her back. She walked to the waiting room and sat down in one of the plastic chairs.

It was a very long day. She talked to Tracy on the phone a couple of times, watched a soap opera on the lounge television and then fell asleep. When she woke up it was dark and a nurse was shaking her.

“Aren’t you waiting on the Bluewolf case?” she asked.

“Yes,” Marisa replied worriedly, sitting up quickly.

“He’s out of recovery and back in his room. He’ll be fine.”

Marisa nodded wordlessly and pressed the nurse’s hand.

“Why don’t you go home?” the nurse suggested kindly.

Marisa stood stiffly and headed for the hall.

It was stretching a point to call a hotel “home.”

* * *

“You’re not going back to the hospital?” Tracy said in an exasperated tone the next morning. They were in the hotel coffee shop.

“There might have been a change overnight.”

“And what if the relatives are there? Do you think they’re going to fall on your neck in welcome?”

“I’ll deal with them.”

“Charlie is supposed to call this morning. The detective from the local police is coming back. He wants you to fill out an incident report on the shooting. And that guy, Block, from the Bureau of Indian Affairs will be here this afternoon. He’ll want to see you, not me.”

“I’ll be back by four,” Marisa replied, picking up her purse. “I’ll check in with you in a couple of hours. Lasky may make a decision today about when to resume the hearing.”

“And what if he wants to talk to you directly?”

“Call me at the hospital, third floor lounge.”

Tracy threw up her hands and went back to her omelet. If Marisa insisted on keeping this vigil there was nothing she could do about it.

Jack’s mother and sister were in the hall outside Jack’s room when Marisa got there. They didn’t have to be identified. The tall, beautiful girl with waist length black hair looked just like him and the older woman was obviously her mother.

“I’m Marisa Hancock,” Marisa said to the girl, extending her hand, her heart pounding.

The girl looked at her blankly.

“The government’s attorney in the highway case,” Marisa explained flatly.

The girl’s eyes widened. “You’re the one Jeff Rivertree was trying to shoot,” she said incredulously.

Marisa nodded bleakly.

“What’s going on, Ana?” her mother asked, looking from one young woman to the other.

“I’ll handle this, Mama,” the girl said. “Why don’t you go into the lounge and have a seat? I’ll be right with you.”

The older woman hesitated, then left. Jack’s sister turned back to Marisa.

“I’m Ana Carter, Jackson’s sister. What are you doing here, Ms. Hancock?” she asked coldly.

“I was hoping to get in to see your brother.”

The girl folded her arms and stared back at Marisa, who refused to flinch.

“You want to visit my brother, Ms. Hancock?” she asked, raising her dark brows.

“Well, yes.”

“Do you really think he’ll want to see you?”

“It’s more like I need to confirm for myself that he’s all right,” Marisa admitted.

“The word of Jack’s doctor is not good enough for you?”

Marisa sighed and looked down at her hands. “Ms. Carter, this situation is complicated. Suffice it to say that I feel a responsibility for your brother’s injury. Isn’t that enough reason to be concerned?”

“Yes, I talked to Mr. Brady. I can understand your position, Ms. Hancock, and I would not want to be in it.”

Marisa straightened and looked at the other woman directly. “Do I get to see him or not?” she asked baldly.

“Not,” Ana Carter replied crisply. “Relatives only today.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“That’s up to the doctor.”

“Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Marisa turned to go and Jack’s sister called after her, “You’ll probably be wasting your time.”

“I’ll take that chance,” Marisa replied. She went around the bend in the corridor as Ana Carter looked after her.

That evening Marisa met with Randall Block from the Bureau. He was concerned only with winning the legal case and irritated her with a number of impractical suggestions designed to inflame the situation even further. After that unproductive experience she went to the police station and answered a lot of obvious questions. When she got back to the hotel she learned that the case had been continued for two weeks, and that her firm had given her permission to remain in Florida to work on it.

“Are you surprised Charlie isn’t flying down here to oversee things himself?” Tracy asked. They were both too keyed up to sleep.

“I’m surprised I haven’t been recalled to Maine and then shot at sunrise,” Marisa replied wearily, stretching out on her bed.

“Are they going to blame you for Bluewolf’s injury?” Tracy asked quietly.

“What does it matter? I blame myself.”

“Why? Legally, you made the right decision. If Brady wasn’t going to risk angering Lasky you had every right to resist doing so yourself. Any attorney would have done the same.”

“I didn’t make the decision for legal reasons only,” Marisa said, closing her eyes.

Tracy sat at the foot of the bed, waiting.

“I said I did, I even convinced myself that I did, but if I’m brutally honest I have to admit there was another element involved.” Marisa opened her eyes.

“Well?” Tracy said.

“I’m attracted to Bluewolf, and he knows it. He was trying to use that to manipulate me into doing what he wanted.”

“Oh, Marisa, are you sure?”

Marisa put her arm across her forehead. “I haven’t been with him that much, but the chemistry was vividly, definitely there. I’m sure he’s accustomed to having that effect on women and I didn’t want to be just another bimbo he dazzled and then controlled.”

“Even so, you made the right move for your client,” Tracy said stubbornly. “And I’m sure you would have made the right move for your client anyway, you’re too professional to do anything else.”

Marisa smiled wanly. “Thanks, Tracy. I can use the vote of confidence right about now.”

“And that Randall Block’s a jerk, isn’t he?” Tracy inquired sympathetically.

Marisa laughed. “Well, he’s a bureaucrat, forgive the pun. He goes back to Washington in the morning, thank God, and I hope he stays there.” She sat up. “What do you say we hit that Italian restaurant on Evans Boulevard tonight? I could use a break from all this angst, and Charlie’s picking up the tab.”

“You’re on.” Tracy rose and they headed for the door.

* * *

It was two more days before Marisa got in to see Jackson Bluewolf. His sister finally took pity on her– or got tired of seeing Marisa sitting in the visitors’ lounge—and led her into Jack’s room with a murmured, “I will probably regret this.”

Jack looked up as Ana said brightly, “Someone here to see you.” She vanished immediately as Marisa stepped into the doorway.

Jack was propped against a pile of snowy pillows, his dusky skin a pleasant contrast with the stark white linens. The stands for intravenous fluids were still next to his bed but the tubes had been disconnected. He was stripped to the waist, his left shoulder swathed in bandages. Marisa was relieved to see that he was looking far from frail; in fact, he appeared rather remarkably hale and strong for a recent gunshot victim. And it was clear that he was angry. Very angry.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded furiously.

“I... I…” Now that she had finally made it into his presence, Marisa seemed to have nothing to say.

“I will have a few choice words to say to my sister for bringing you in here. Did you cast a spell on her?” he said.

“I just told her I wanted to see for myself that you were all right,” Marisa replied.

“Well, you’ve seen me. I’m alive. You can go.” He looked away from her pointedly.

“Is there anything I can do?” she said helplessly.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough already?” he countered.

“You know I never wanted this,” Marisa said quietly, gesturing toward the bed.

“You wouldn’t listen to me!” he snapped, stabbing a forefinger in her direction. “If you had this never would have happened!”

“How nice for you that you know everything,” Marisa said sarcastically, losing patience with his attitude.

“How nice of you to apologize!” he countered. “You can’t even admit that you were wrong. God, I’ve heard of stubborn, but you are the living, breathing limit.”

“Oh, come on, there was more to it than that and you know it!” Marisa replied with equal heat.

“What do you mean?” he said, his eyes narrowing. He pushed himself upright in the bed impatiently, the muscles in his upper arms flexing as he did so.

“I mean the flowers, the nifty rescue from the reporters, the practiced routine. Don’t think I couldn’t figure out the reason for all that attention.”

He stared at her a long moment, his dark eyes penetrating, the hollows beneath them more pronounced from his recent illness. The shadow of stubble on his square jaw made him look even tougher than usual, and curiously even more attractive.

“Perhaps you’ll enlighten me,” he said quietly. Too quietly.

“You thought if you romanced me a little you could influence my conduct in the case,” Marisa said bluntly.

There was a silence for several beats, and then he said flatly, “You must not have a very high opinion of yourself, Ms. Hancock.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Can’t you think of any other reason for my ‘attention,’ as you put it, than my desire to best you in court?”

Marisa could feel herself flushing. She gripped her hands together, striving for equilibrium. “If you think I’m going to fall for that line you’re mistaken a second time,” she replied unsteadily.

His mouth tightened. “Oh, the hell with you,” he said disgustedly. “Get out.”

“Wait a minute...”

He picked up the empty plastic carafe from his bedside table and threw it. The bottle exploded against the wall behind her head. “I said get out!” he yelled.

Marisa stared at him, stunned. “You tried to hit me with that thing!” she gasped.

“If I were trying to hit you I would have hit you,” he said through clenched teeth. “I merely want you to leave.”

A nurse appeared in the doorway, staring in astonishment at the jug on the floor. “What the devil is going on in here?” she demanded.

“Remove this woman from my room,” Jack said distantly. “She’s making me sick.”

The nurse looked at Marisa.

“I’m going,” Marisa said meekly and slipped into the hall. The nurse followed her out.

“Miss, we can’t have you upsetting the patients this way,” the nurse hissed.

“Don’t worry,” Marisa said in defeat. “I won’t be causing any further disturbances.”

She hurried off down the hall before she could provoke any more flying missiles.

* * *

A couple of hours after Marisa’s abrupt departure, Jack shoved his dinner tray aside and sat up on the edge of the hospital bed. The room swam for a moment and then righted itself. He glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes before visiting hours began again, which meant that his mother and sister would be back. He sighed. He appreciated their good intentions, but after a while he usually couldn’t think of anything to say to them.

He knew one visitor who wouldn’t be returning. He closed his eyes resignedly. Had he actually thrown a bottle at her? He winced and shook his head. Soon he would be knocking her on the head and throwing her over his shoulder. Of course, that was what he really wanted to do; maybe the ancients had the best idea. They just acted, without worrying about the niceties of civilized behavior.

Marisa Hancock did not make him feel very civilized.

When she first left his room, he had been ready to give up on her entirely. But then he had replayed the preceding scene in his mind. He remembered the look on her face when he asked her if she couldn’t think of the real reason for his attention. For one brief, glorious moment, she had known what he meant and wanted to believe him. And then her guard went back up and her expression changed to detached, cynical denial.

That one moment was enough to give him hope. When he was sprung from this cage he would find her and try again.

And he must make very sure to control his temper and not throw anything at her.

* * *

“So how did it go?” Tracy asked, looking up from her notes when Marisa entered their hotel room.

“Disaster, utter disaster. I should have listened to you and stayed away from him.”

“Is he all right?”

“Oh, he’s wonderful. He’s in fine, even athletic, form,” Marisa replied wryly.

“What does that mean?”

“Never mind. He’s recovering nicely, that’s what it means. I’m sure he’ll be back tormenting us in court as soon as we resume the case.”

“Which reminds me,” Tracy said, brandishing an envelope with the seal of the State of Florida on it. “A little missive for you from Judge Lasky.”

Marisa accepted it wearily. “Anything else?”

“Charlie called. He wants you to call him back at home tonight.”

Marisa nodded.

“Oh, and the records from the Seminole cemetery have been released to the court. You can see them any time in Lasky’s chambers.”

“So he says here,” Marisa observed, looking up from the letter. “Well, I guess we’d better get to it.”

“Now?”

“Why not? Isn’t that what we’re here for?” Marisa said testily.

“Marisa,” Tracy said gently, “the court is closed.”

“In the morning, then. First thing.”

Tracy nodded, certain that Marisa’s mood had more to do with her visit to the hospital than her eagerness to peruse the history of an ancient graveyard.

* * *

Marisa spent the next day with the cemetery records and collapsed in her room that evening while Tracy went to the movies. She was staring at a rerun on television when there was a knock on her door.

“Just a minute,” she called, pulling a dressing gown on over her pajamas and running her fingers through her tumbled hair.

There was no sound from the hall.

“Is that my laundry?” Marisa said, pulling the door open.

“I’m afraid not,” Jackson Bluewolf replied.

Marisa stared at him, then glanced down in dismay at her bare feet and the washed-out robe she was wearing.

“I thought you were the cleaning service,” she mumbled inanely.

By contrast with herself, he was gorgeous in eggshell jeans with a blue Oxford cloth shirt and leather moccasins. His left arm was in a sling and he carried a fringed suede jacket over his right shoulder.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Chapter 3

“What are you doing out of the hospital?” Marisa asked, stepping aside so he could precede her into the room.

“I discharged myself against medical advice,” he replied, turning to face her as she closed the door behind them. “I had to sign all these forms saying that my family would not sue them if I dropped dead in the street, or something like that.”

“If I were your lawyer I would have talked you out of doing that,” she said dryly.

He fished in his pocket and held up a bottle of pills. “I’m supposed to take two of these every four hours, or four of them every two hours. I forget.” He frowned at the printing on the label.

“Please, sit down,” Marisa said, sweeping a pile of papers from a chair onto the floor. “I don’t want to witness a relapse.”

He sat heavily as Marisa hovered nearby. They surveyed each other warily.

“Just give me a minute to change and I’ll be right with you,” Marisa said suddenly, remembering what she was wearing.

He nodded.

She bolted into the bathroom and grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the hook on the back of the door. As she changed hastily, not bothering with underwear, she glanced at the mirror and groaned at her hair. She found a clip in the medicine cabinet and pulled it back, fastening the wavy mass at the nape of her neck. There was no time for makeup, she would have to do as she was. She reentered the bedroom as he looked up and said, “Too bad.”

“What?”

“I liked you with your hair down.”

Marisa fingered the clip nervously, resisting the impulse to yank it out and fling it on the floor.

“It was the first time I’d ever seen it that way. In court you’re always so buttoned up and proper. With all that hair around your face you looked like a little girl.”

Even if it was a deliberate attempt to charm her, she was helpless. It was working. Marisa looked back at him silently, unable to frame a reply.

“I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” he finally observed.

“The thought had occurred to me.”

“I came to apologize for my behavior when you visited me at the hospital. I can only offer the excuse that I was shot full of prescription drugs and not responsible for my actions.” He smiled slightly.

“That’s all right. I got so mad at you I forgot to thank you for saving my life.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Not from my point of view.”

“I guess we should call it even then,” he said lightly.

“Not even, exactly. That boy Jeff Rivertree is still in jail facing a capital charge.”

He made a deprecating gesture. “That’s my fault. When I guessed what Jeff was going to do, I rushed to the courthouse but I didn’t arrive in time to prevent the incident. I had hoped to get to him first.”

“What is he being held on?” Marisa asked.

“Attempted murder.”

She winced.

“I hope we can get it reduced to felonious assault. We’re trying to raise the bail right now,” Jack said.

“I’d lobby for the lesser charge, but I can’t get involved with his case. You do understand that,” Marisa said.

He nodded. “I understand.”

A silence fell and they stared at each other.

Jack cleared his throat. “There’s another reason for my coming here,” he said.

“Yes?” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his good arm across the one in the sling. Instead of focusing on his face she found herself staring at the top button of his shirt, wishing she could undo it. When she tore her gaze away she realized that she didn’t know what he was saying.

“Why this is so important to me,” he concluded.

Marisa stared at him, clueless. “I beg your pardon?” she said weakly.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, fine, I’m just a little tired. Hectic week, you know.” She smiled vacuously, feeling a perfect fool.

“Of course. I was just saying that we’ve been at cross-purposes from the beginning, but I’ve never had a chance to explain to you why I’m involved here, why my work for NFN has become my life.”

“Don’t you do anything else?” Marisa asked ingenuously, and then bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, but I know NFN can’t be paying you much.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s a perfectly logical question. As a matter of fact, you’re right, my stipend from NFN is very small. I support myself with my writing.”

“Writing?”

“Do you read mysteries?”

Marisa shook her head. “I’m afraid that my work doesn’t leave much time for reading anything other than legal briefs.”

“Well, I write a series of mysteries that features an Indian detective as the main character, sort of a Blackfoot Agatha Christie.”

“You’re Roger Whitemoon!” Marisa said incredulously. Even she had heard of him.

“Yes,” Jack said, smiling. “I do a couple of books a year and that enables me to finance my NFN work, which occupies most of my time.”

“The last one was a bestseller, wasn’t it?” Marisa asked, impressed. “What was it called? Quiet Prairie?”

“Silent Prairie. Close.”

“But your first love is the NFN.”

He shrugged. “The books bring in the money, and I do enjoy writing them, but in the grand scheme of things the NFN is more important.”